


La Lune de Corée

by quagmireisadora



Series: Dear Moon [1]
Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Delusional side-pairing OnHo at best, F/M, Lee Jinki | Onew-centric, M/M, Mystery, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26293777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quagmireisadora/pseuds/quagmireisadora
Summary: Day is taken by night. You rise as my dawn, I settle into your dusk. Your glow finds me, my shadows hide you. Your brightness breaks my dark, my darkness twists your light. You become me, I become you. You claim me and I own you. You swallow me and I swallow you. At the end of this chase we fuse into one, we stay as one.Hyung, I'm begging you—
Relationships: Choi Minjung/Lee Jinki | Onew, Kim Jonghyun/Lee Jinki | Onew
Series: Dear Moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991095
Kudos: 5
Collections: Summer of SHINee General Collection





	La Lune de Corée

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for unclaimed prompt #80 from [Winter of SHINee 2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Winter_Of_SHINee/works): "detective A is hired for a high price to find a thief B who stole something that doesn’t appear to have any real value." Credit to [jqngyu](https://twitter.com/jqngyu)
> 
> Based on [this](https://mathiasdelplanque.bandcamp.com/track/la-lune-de-cor-e) song

* * *

_You’ve reached Jonghyun. But… you haven’t really, have you? You’ve reached a line dividing the world between you and everything else. You’ve reached this line, you’ve chanced upon it during your lengthy travels. And now that you’ve found it, you aren’t brave enough to cross it, are you? You’ve not reached Jonghyun. You know what to do._

* * *

He brushes his hands when he stands up, some mud still clumped to the fabric of his pants. “Bag that,” he orders, and a forensic specialist is immediately beckoned over.

Above them, the foliage is thick. When sunlight splits between its gaps and touches his skin, it carries a mildly green hue. The place is dreary. If someone said night is about to fall, he would believe them more easily than the hands of his watch. Under these damp and dripping trees, even midday feels like a dim, cold, wet evening. 

The air is slow and sad. Like it is in mourning. Like it is lamenting a loss. Barely any wind blows so deep in the forest, but the bright yellow police lines still flutter. In the distance, sniffer dogs are barking. Their minding officers are barking too: barking orders and unnerved exclamations and bewildered doubts. There is yelling somewhere nearby, but the contents of the yelling are polite—formal speech spat out with force. Some onlookers and curious trespassers are sent on their way.

Detective Lee Jinki takes in the scene, recognising it for what it is. 

Some feet away, Lieutenant Kim Gwiboon frowns at a square of ground in thought, hands on her hips. He approaches her and directs his gaze to the place. There is nothing of note there. 

“Something bothering you?” he asks in a tone no one can hear. Sometimes, Gwiboon likes to give voice to her _woman’s intuition,_ as she calls it. And while Jinki is open to indulge her, even if her theories aren’t always right, he doesn’t want other teams to overhear for fear of their disrespect. He imagines being a woman on the police force is already a difficult life without the malicious comments behind one’s back.

She turns to him and the look says more than words could. He puts a name to the emotion immediately, like it is his own.

Together they return their attention to the ground. It is still wet, still the same as everywhere else. There is nothing of note here, or in any of the areas cordoned off by the lines. The earth is still the earth. The trees are still trees. The sky is still a sky. Nothing is out of place, nothing is marred by misdeed. None of what they can see tells the story of a repugnant crime.

They are clutching at straws.

“Anything on your end, sir?” she asks after a long minute of silence. The forensic specialists are still poking and prodding where he left them. 

“A few things but… nothing I would classify as evidence.”

Every investigation has a head, a stomach, a tail. A good detective starts at the very end, grappling it, pulling it to themselves, carefully studying every twitching muscle, every writhing organ. A good detective takes each limb into their embrace and caresses it until the feet stop kicking and the thighs stop trembling; until the stomach is sated, until the chest is no longer panting for much-needed air. Until the head reveals its thoughts—the _why_ of the case.

Every investigation starts with a call, contains clues and evidence in its breadth, and concludes when reasonable doubt can no longer be sustained.

He is trying to be a good detective, even in a wildly speculative case like this. But all he’s managed to catch is mist, and Gwiboon knows this without him having to spell it out for her. She’s in the same boat.

“Hyeongsa-nim,” an officer approaches them, with another man in tow. “This one says he saw our unsub.” 

Gwiboon raises a sharp eyebrow and Jinki says nothing. The officer is not one of theirs. His accent and mannerisms peg him for local PD. Possibly someone who watches far too many American crime shows for his own good if “unsub” is the word he has decided to use. 

Jinki nods to the civilian behind him: greying hair, bad teeth, tan jacket, looking like he hasn’t had much sleep. Smells a little like drink. Unreliable. “Is this true?”

“I… I was parked here—on the road, sir,” he points back to the highway cutting across the forest. “You see, it’s a weekday. There were no fares to go back to the city. So… so, I was parked here. Last night.”

“What brought you here, then?” 

“Guy from Seoul. Said he was meeting his girlfriend here for a date.” 

“So what happened to the couple?” 

“I—I don’t know, sir,” the man insists. “All I can tell you is… I was sitting there, minding my own business, listening to the radio—you know, the station that plays very soothing songs late at night. That foreign-sounding program… what was it called?” he scratches his head in thought. 

Gwiboon impatiently motions for him to keep talking. 

“R-right. So. I was there. In my taxi. No fare in sight. And **that’s** when it happened!” he claps his hands to accentuate, as if he has already solved the entire case.

Jinki frowns. “When what happened?”

The man cautiously looks at them all turn-by-turn. “You know,” he nods as if responding to a test. “The crime.”

He sighs, closing his exasperated eyes. “Take a detailed statement,” he orders the officer. “The car’s still here?” 

“Y-yes, sir. Just across the street, when you walk straight out from between these two trees and look—”

“Lieutenant?” Jinki says to Gwiboon and they wordlessly walk in the direction. 

Several police cars are clumped around the place. A lot of officers are walking about, some talking to each other, some reporting to their HQ. The scene is at odds with their surroundings. Lush green hills roll inwards, watching them through the sliding clouds and biting cold. The slopes are smooth on their journey downwards, like waves about to collapse onto tourist attractions and brightly painted amusement park rides.

The call had come in sometime early, perhaps long before Jinki even showed up to work that morning. Yongin PD needed an assist with a terrible and violent situation. Three cars had headed south from Seoul just after a quick briefing. And now here they were, trying to wrap their heads around all the fuss that seemed for nothing.

As promised, the taxi is where they’d been told they would find it. It sits a little off the tarmac, under the shade of an overgrown camphor tree. The mudguards are coated in thick splatters, and the sign over the roof is nearly all worn out. Jinki walks around it to the driver’s side and looks across the street, his line of sight obscured by heavy boughs and branches. There are no lights around the area, and if the day is so dreary then nights must surely be nothing short of tenebrous.

“What the hell could that guy have seen from here?” he mutters.

“Don’t know,” Gwiboon admits as she peeks into the car through a window. “But he wasn’t our only eyewitness,” she nods to the dash camera. 

Jinki weighs his options and realises he doesn’t really have any to begin with. “OK,” he relents. “Impound the car and get the footage off for Taemin. We’ll see what the hell all this is about.”

* * *

The violent crimes unit in south Seoul is made up of several teams, each one specialising in a different gruesome crime. Some teams are large while others consist of barely a handful of officers. Jinki’s own team—which takes on all the cases nobody wants—is given a corner on their floor, behind a large shelf full of files and away from the rest of the office. He blames himself for this unspoken ostracism, even if his subordinates will never support that line of thought.

His team… they aren’t much, he admits quietly. They were once five, now they are not. Now he has Gwiboon, a trained field operative who is extremely well-versed in law and helps build cases before prosecution intervenes. And Taemin, who knows his way around the archives and bureaucratic blockades of the police department. They aren’t much, despite their talents, because he hasn’t been able to protect them from the system. They’ve made it this far of their own accord, and he’s grateful for them, because all Jinki brings to the table are his skills with a gun and a small network of informants.

There are several ways to play the game in a place like this, where an overworked and underpaid officer of the law could easily fall prey to corruption, to malversation. But playing the game means standing in someone else’s cross-hairs. Jinki has lost teammates to that before. He has lost good police officers, diligent in their duties and honest enough to blow the whistle on their superiors. He has learnt his lesson the hard way, so he does all he can to keep the rest of them safe. He tells them to work quietly, without expectation for reward, and that helps them stay in the good books of their captain. 

“Anything?” the older man asks when Jinki approaches him later that day. 

“A possible witness. Still looking for all the pieces, sir,” he says without giving away his cluelessness. 

“Keep at it,” the approval is clear in the captain’s voice. 

Jinki shoots him a salute and walks back to his desk. He feels eyes follow him. Resentful, bitter eyes that speak volumes with their silence. It’s only when he’s safely behind the shelves and cabinets that he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“What do you think we’re looking for, sir?” Taemin asks from his desk.

“At this point?” he replies in a grumble. “Whatever you have is a lead. What does that say?” he nods at a page with the photograph of the taxi driver. 

“Parking violations, speeding tickets,” Taemin shrugs. “Nothing interesting.”

Gwiboon passes him another ream of paper. “The guy who was out to meet his date last night,” she explains. “Tracked him from the card payment.”

“Tell me he stayed in Yongin. This Kim Jonghyun…?” Jinki frowns, going over the information while Gwiboon makes a negating sound in her throat. There isn’t much of it. University graduate, electrical engineer, working at a prestigious company in Gangnam but lives on the east side with a flatmate. Commonplace.

“Don’t know. Called his phone, but I keep getting his voicemail.”

“And the girlfriend?” Jinki prompts. 

“Could be any one of the four hundred women who visited the park yesterday,” Gwiboon rakes a hand through her hair. “I could narrow it down to thirty minutes before and after the time on the taxi receipt but… there are hardly any cameras around the place.”

“He could be meeting a guy,” Taemin supplies. They both turn to stare at him, but he simply looks flustered for a moment before muttering something about _accomplices_ and _possibilites_. 

“I’ll call again,” Gwiboon dials the number and leaves it out on speakerphone for them all to listen in. The bell goes thrice before there’s a response. She grabs her phone urgently.

“Yes, hello, am I speaking with—?” 

_“You’re reached Jonghyun. But… you haven’t really, have you?”_

Gwiboon huffs and Taemin groans. They fall back in their chairs and return to their thoughts. In the background, the words on speakerphone are a disappointment, and when they’ve stopped Jinki feels them settle over him like dust. He’s suddenly reminded of an afternoon many years ago, when he had first signed himself up for the police academy and didn’t know if it was the right decision after all.

Twelve years later, he still has his doubts.

After his shift that night, he walks down a narrow street and reaches a door lit with tiny spotlights. The road is empty and silent, the night is cold. But the moment he touches the door to push it open, all the noise from inside pushes back like a wall of sound. 

The bar is crowded. In one corner is the forensics group, spilling soju and grilling their meat far longer than necessary. One raises his hand and he nods back in reply. Closer to him are violent crimes team 1 and 2, along with the captain, who’s clearly drunk enough to be repeating the same anecdotes he slurs out at every other occasion like this. The men around him don’t embarrass him by reminding him of that, they listen intently without interrupting.

One of the newbies notices Jinki and makes to give up his seat. He waves the guy down, studies the rest of the gathering, looking for an empty spot. There is none, not even between Gwiboon and Taemin, who seem too engrossed in an animated conversation to spot him. 

Jinki quietly slinks out and returns to the silence. He returns to the cold of the night and lets out a long sigh, immediately reaching for a pack of cigarettes and lighting it to rest between his lips. 

—between his lips is where the other used to live, singing and whispering and asking for compliments. Begging for them. And Jinki would give each one. He would draw the words with his tongue. He would imprint them with teeth and breath. He would leave a thousand compliments and they still weren't enough—

The door opens against his back and he gives a surprised sound. Two young detectives emerge and bow their giggled apologies to him.

“Won’t you join us, sir?” they invite him to a party they’re leaving. 

“Soon,” he nods. They bid him a goodnight and shuffle off up the street, eventually swallowed by darkness. 

Jinki drags long and slow on his cigarette and turns his eyes up to exhale a cloud of his own making. The moon is a hemisphere—a perfect half, like the dough knife his mother would use when he bought her an oven with his first salary. He looks at the moon slip in and out of sight in the murky sky, until his stomach grumbles and he has to go back inside.

Wishing the captain many happy returns, he is pulled down next to the old man and plied with glass after glass. “What’re you planning on doing about the Yongin case, eh?” he’s asked. “Think this’ll be an easy one?”

“It’s too early to say, sir,” he swigs and answers. 

“Commissioner's already sweating about it. Don’t need another one for the prosecution to poke holes in.”

“I’m following some leads. Might take us somewhere,” his assurance is empty. He just wants the attention off of himself. 

It seems to work, because the rest of the questions are about his family and thoughts on marriage. He mumbles his responses, they lose their interest. They talk and eat and drink until he feels numb enough to be able to bear the rest of the evening, spent in the company of men who talk too loud and women who swim along the periphery of his vision.

* * *

_You’ve reached Jonghyun. And yet you’re still miles away. You’re searching in the wrong direction. You’re following the wrong footsteps. When you move your eyes across the dark, you’re thinking of me. But you’re thinking too slow. You take a step forward, I take five back. You shine your torch, but it’s too weak, hyung. Can I call you hyung?_

* * *

“And this is Dr. Choi,” the captain politely points to a tall woman in a professional suit and sensible shoes. “She’s from uhh… Hanyang, was it?”

“That’s right.” She holds her hand out for a shake, her smile sweet and her air friendly. “I’m very grateful for your cooperation, detective—”

“Sir, we’re in the middle of an investigation, shouldn’t one of the rookies be a better choice to do this?” Jinki protests, and immediately the woman retracts her arm. Her face is easy to read, her disappointment so clear it’s as if she isn’t even making an effort to hide it. But there’s no changing his mind, he has no time to help an academic. 

“Jinki yah,” the captain chides. “Let’s talk about that later. Why don’t you take Miss Choi to one of the meeting rooms? Show her some true police hospitality.” He flashes two encouraging thumbs-up at the woman and rushes away.

They stand in the lobby for a few more minutes, not exchanging anything. A handful of officers pass them and say something under their breaths. He can imagine what it must’ve been, and the university woman shifts her weight from foot to foot like she catches every word. If something discourages her from staying, Jinki lets it do its job. He doesn’t feel any guilt, and he doesn’t feel any pity. 

The receptionist notifies them of the room she has blocked out for them. When they don’t move for several more seconds, she asks if she should cancel the booking.

Jinki curses in annoyance. “This way,” he chews out and leads them down a long hallway.

The captain is clearly out to impress someone, he thinks when they arrive. The heaters blow warm air, the humidifier gushes a thin beam of steam, the blinds are drawn and the glass window looking into the corridor is set to frosted. This woman must have some serious pull in administration: setting up an interview with a police officer is not easy, setting up a full-blown study with several detectives even harder. Yet here there are, sitting on cream sofas and being served a tray of oolong tea by one of the young cadets.

“Uhm,” she’s the first to break the silence, her shoulders stiff and her eyes on the file in her lap. “I want to say again how grateful I am for your help, Detective Lee. I really appreciate how busy your schedule must be, and I—”

“And you should get to the point,” he nods.

She blinks and bows her head. “I’m from the Department of Occupational and Environmental Medicine,” she explains. “We’re studying the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder, with a focus of police officers and… and I’d like to ask you some questions about it, if you’re OK with that.”

“I’m not, but I have no say in this, do I?”

“I—I’ll try and be quick, then.” She flips open her file and hands him some consent forms to sign, explains how the questionnaire will work. He half-listens to her ramble about direct and indirect traumas as his hand quickly draws out his signature. When he hands her back the pen, her voice haltingly tells him she will record his answers, and may have to come back for a follow-up.

“Get on with it, then.”

She nods, but takes a sip of her cup as if to regain lost footing. He studies her in those silent moments, the old habit of an old investigator. Her hair is the color of chestnuts and her legs are long enough that she needs to fold them to a side when she’s sitting down like this. Her face is small, her fingers long. She looks young and beautiful, like she belongs out in a garden, not in a dreary police station talking to a weathered old man like him.

Behind her, the second hand is creeping forward inch by inch. In his pocket, his phone vibrates and reminds him he’s supposed to be halfway out to Kim Jonghyun’s apartment and questioning his flatmate. He skips his foot in impatience as he waits for her to stop stalling and start talking.

“So, I want to discuss your dreams,” she finally begins, her phone set on record mode.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” she nods. “Whatever comes to your mind first when you think of the word.”

“I don’t have any dreams,” he refuses. “If I do, they make no sense and I can’t remember them when I wake up.” It’s a lie, and even though they’ve only just met, he knows she can tell he’s lying. It’s her damned face, so much like an open book, leaving so little to the imagination. It pushes and prods and makes him feel like a vulnerable, emasculated mess.

He has no time to have his dreams analysed. 

“Look,” he offers as a way of consolation. “I haven’t killed a man. I haven’t seen any gruesome crimes. I don’t have a drinking or drug problem—can’t afford one on my salary,” he jokes. “Doesn’t that exclude me from your study? Because I haven’t had any trauma before?”

She looks a little guilty, then. “I apologise, but your captain sent me a list of officers who may be suitable for this study so—”

“What?!” Jinki asks, immediately suspicious. “Who else is on the list?”

“I… I can’t say,” the woman blinks up at him, suddenly alarmed. “Did—did the captain not ask you before he recommended your name for—?” She sits up and raises her hands, shock obvious on her soft features. “I’m so sorry, that—that’s extremely unethical. I...” she looks around herself for a moment, lost and upset. “I’m very sorry, but—I should go.” Her hands start to shakily gather her things.

Jinki knows his life doesn’t belong to him. He’s the property of the state; of the metropolitan police department. His successes are Seoul’s successes, he was told from day one. His achievements are Seoul’s achievements. His honor is Seoul’s honor, and his duty is to Seoul alone. But his failures, his inadequacies… his shortcomings. They are his own. When he faces scrutiny, when he faces questioning, he stands by himself.

When he is celebrated, he is an officer of the law. When he is liable, he is Lee Jinki.

“Stay,” he motions. “I’ll answer your questions.”

* * *

The door opens a crack and an eye peeks out. 

“What?”

“Does Kim Jonghyun live here?” Jinki flashes his badge.

There’s a long pause before a voice comes out from behind the door. “... he’s not in.”

“I know,” Jinki nods, trying to get a look at the apartment through the tiny gap. All he notes is curtains and a brown sofa with pillows in disarray. “This is about him. Can I speak with you for a few minutes?”

“No.” The door shuts decisively, and Jinki’s patience wears thin. 

He knocks again for a few more minutes, rings the bell three or four times too. A neighbour comes out and questions him about the noise, to which he has to apologise and secede with a bow, even though all he wants to do is break down the door and drag out the asshole hiding inside. But he doesn’t have a warrant and there have been complaints against police for use of excessive force. His hands are tied. 

“Does he ever come out?” he asks the ahjussi on security duty when he returns empty-handed to the main gate. The old man seems friendly, forthcoming. Most men like him are. “Work shift, groceries, maybe even for a smoke. Something like that?”

“Haven’t seen him leave since three nights ago. Ran out in his slippers, the crazy guy. Must’ve forgotten to buy toilet paper or something…” a chuckle and a shake of the head. “Don’t know when he came back but... must’ve been when I was off-duty,” the ahjusshi offers a handful of boiled chestnuts with his reply. Jinki accepts with a grateful nod.

“The one upstairs is usually quiet, but his friend—”

“Jonghyun.”

“Yeah, him. Very polite. Always asks after my health—I’ve had a bad cough for the last few weeks, so he must have noticed. Kind fellow.” He nods approvingly. “The residents don’t like bachelors living here, but these two haven’t caused any trouble yet so they’re well-liked. No late nights and no parties.”

“And have you seen the other one recently? This Jonghyun?”

“Hmm… that was three nights ago, too. But much earlier than the flatmate. Sometime… around five?”

“Did he say anything to you then?” Jinki asks. 

“Just… waved and said to have a good night. I thought that was a bit strange.”

“Why was it strange?”

“Well… you wouldn’t say goodnight if you were coming back,” the old man reasons, hissing thoughtfully. “So I thought... he must be going away on a trip.”

“How did he look? Was there… anything else that was strange about him that day? Or before it?”

“Hmm…” the watchman hums, massaging his knee. “He was dressed in a suit. Like a businessman, you know? Other than that, I—can’t really remember much.”

“If you do, call me,” Jinki hands the man his card and bows his head a little. “Thank you for your hard work.”

At the station, he immediately begins to fill in his team with the information he’s gathered when he notices a square brown envelope on his desk. Jinki frowns. It is the only mail he’s received in months, possibly years. He hasn’t been expecting anything to arrive, and no one he knows would write to him like this. So he is cautious when he picks it up to study it.

“Oh, special delivery?” Gwiboon smiles.

The address is handwritten, making it much more personal. Intimate. The words look messy, the letters childish and even a little angry, Jinki thinks with a frown.

Turning it this way and that, weighing the thin package in his hand, he considers it again: there are tiny scribbles on the corners, like the signs of an easily-distracted mind. Ink-smeared fingerprints dance on the seal flap. There is no stamp, no return address. The contents themselves feel nothing like a letter or a card. It’s a CD, he realises when he runs his fingers along the corners, the shape prominent.

“Know who dropped this here?” he asks the other two, who shrug. Jinki’s suspicions only deepen when he slides the CD out and searches for the drive slot on his laptop.

“Ah, I can play that for you, sir,” Taemin offers, holding his hand out. 

They gather in front of his screen as the video begins, showing nothing but a wall and an empty chair for several minutes of runtime. Soon though, a man enters the frame—a man they are all very familiar with by now. He strolls into view and claims the seat, adjusting himself into place and smoothing his clothes before staring intently into the camera lens. Some seconds pass and a small smile tugs on the corners of his lips. He looks down at his lap, almost as if he were shying away from eye contact. Even without a single word being uttered, his demeanour is soft and demure. 

Something is not right. 

“When you touched me,” Jonghyun says in the recording. “... the flowers inside me bloomed. Finally. After all these years. When you touched me, I was in spring. You brought that to me,” he nods. “I ripened and grew heavy with fruit. I fed all the mouths that flew to me. I became a home,” he looks back at the camera, his gaze fervent even in a video recording.

“You did that to me. And I miss you.” 

Jinki’s team shares a look at this. 

Jonghyun continues, his tone dragging and his voice supple. “I miss you so much. Every day. Every night. Every second you’re not with me, I miss you. Sometimes, even when I can see you, when I can reach out and hold you. Even then... I miss you. You're so far away. Why are you so far?” he tilts his head in question, speaking as if to a lover. “Why aren't you closer? Come closer… please.” 

— _come closer_ , the other whispers in his ear, steaming his skin with the pronunciation. It’s an unreasonable request. Getting any closer means their limbs will intersect. Getting any closer will change their shapes. Getting any closer will make them one abominable being. It doesn't matter. He'll do it. He'll do anything. He'll even—

“Sir,” Taemin says, some concern lingering in his tone. “Is this... ? What is this supposed to be?”

Jinki grits his jaw. He does not want to get ahead of himself, but there isn't any other conclusion to draw. “I think we have our prime suspect.”

“Eh?!” Gwiboon balks. “Sir!” she tries to reason. “He’s…! It’s just a video of him saying weird things. Who knows if this is just some dumb prank? If... if someone’s behind the camera, forcing him to do this?”

“A cryptic taunting message sent to the police. Where else have we seen something like this?”

The other two look at each other for a moment before Taemin speaks up. “Sociopathic criminals. Repeat offenders. Serial… killers?” his face blanches when he finishes his utterance.

“Look at that envelope,” Jinki motions with his chin. “There’s fingerprints. I'm sure they belong to our missing guy here. Run them up and tell me if I’m wrong.”

“But what do we even charge him with—?!”

“We find him first,” Jinki nods before he even hears the whole question. “Without him in custody we're just shooting in the dark, and he knows this. This is why he's playing with us,” he points at the paused video. “Send the CD up for analysis, see if they can find a way to track him down.” He picks up his notebook and jacket, heading out of their small corner.

“I’m going back to Yongin.”

* * *

_You’ve reached Jonghyun. You’re not the only one I destroyed, you know? There were others. A thousand others... I’ll say that, but you’ll correct me won’t you? You’ll ask me to give you the truth. You’ll ask me to give you my heart. You’ll threaten me. Scare me with your warnings. But… you’re just as scared. Because you’ve not reached Jonghyun._

* * *

He smokes in. He smokes out. He waves the match. He hisses a cloud. He walks through the fog. He drinks nicotine. He releases doubt. A gust shakes tiny black beads of camphor from their homes and sends them down on him in a shower.

 _This is the right place_ , he convinces himself as he returns to the scene of the crime, even if he does not know what the crime is yet. Not with any certainty, at least. But he’s on the right trail. He's positioned himself correctly, that's all that matters. There’s nowhere else he will find the answers he is desperately seeking. 

Following his orders, they’ve drawn out lines. The fog remains thick and heavy like a permanent curtain on clarity. But on the ground, bright yellow threads criss-cross in a grid; mark each square, each unturned stone, each scrap of dirt for its importance. In the poor visibility it looks like the grid could extend for miles. In the haze of his perplexity, it probably does. It probably covers the whole surface of the earth, he thinks. 

Slipping under the police line he ventures out into the lattice. His feet squelch mud, scrunch leaves. He moves through steamy mist, hearing nothing but silence and his own breath echoing around him. Square after square and line after line he passes until he is at the very centre of the arrangement. The very centre of the world. The very centre of truth, he believes, but... but still there is nothing for him to find. He has moved from box to unimportant box and arrived at nothing. He has tugged on the full length of his rope and now he is at its end. He has dug a pit until all he’s left with is the wet mud he hauled out.

An emptiness stares back at him.

He marks the ground with his footprints so that he can retrace his steps to where he began. But the truth is there is no beginning. There is no end. He is alone.

The video from the dashcam shows nothing. The inquiries led by his team reveal nothing. Prosecution laughs at his requests for warrants and the department laughs at his lack of ability. He is slowly turning into more of a joke than ever before. And all he has to blame is a man he is likely to never meet.

“What did you do?” he chews out to his solitude. “What the fuck did you do?” 

Nothing replies. Nothing gives itself away. A few murky minutes pass, a little hysteria grips him. Jinki panics. His eyes blink out the haze and his teeth bite down on the instinct to run—run for his life. But as he looks this way and that, as he turns in place, he realises he’s hopelessly surrounded.

He is trying to be a good detective, but this is not a good investigation. This has no body to be assessed. This has no evidence, no witnesses, no trace of any kind. This investigation shouldn't even exist. But it does. It stretches the fabric of time against its fingertips, watches with a satisfied smile as it lengthens. Rips and tears. There is nothing to investigate. There has been no visible crime, nor any indication of one to come. 

So why is Jinki here?

When he turns in another round, he finds himself enclosed within the police line. Enclosed within the clues. For several frustrated minutes, **he** is the crime scene. He is the evidence. He is the proof. He is the motive, the alibi, the modus operandi. He is the crime. And the hair on the back of his neck tells him he is being watched. 

Jonghyun is always watching.

Jinki fishes out his phone and dials the now-familiar number. One ring goes, then three, then eight. The voicemail message plays—a new one again—and instead of coherent clues he only finds more unintelligible puzzles.

“There’s no other angles for this spot?” he points at an image of the large entrance gates and turns to the park guard, who stands in his place looking dumbly at the multiple screens in his office. The amusement park is closed until the fog settles and rides can undergo regular maintenance again. Without its usual fixture of noisy children and cosy couples, the place is eerie. Like the last living remnant of a wasteland. Like another crime scene. 

“And what about ticket purchases?” he continues. 

“That… ah! We definitely have that information,” the man looks enthusiastic for a moment before peeking out of the office and beckoning someone. “We can get you a list of card payments and online bookings,” he assures.

“And what about those who paid cash?” Jinki challenges, but he doesn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Anyway, please send those records to us urgently.”

“But… hyeongsa nim,” the man stops him. “May I ask what this is in relation to? I… heard there were police cars here a few days ago but. There’s nothing on the news. Was it something… horrible?”

This is a game. A game Jonghyun created a long time ago, without anyone’s knowledge. Without making a sound to alert those around him. The world is filled with players of this game, players of his choosing. He makes the rules and he decides whose turn it is to roll the dice. He calls the scores and he assigns victory or defeat. He knows every piece on the board like the back of his hand. He knows how to control. He knows how to exploit. He knows how to orchestrate.

But the farther back Jonghyun draws from reach, the deeper he sinks into oblivion and the more he pushes away from his place… the harder Jinki is willing to pull him back.

“No,” he lies to the man. The cameras continue to show him blurry images of people streaming through the gates in large numbers, constituting several fast-forwarded hours. He points again. “Can I also get a list of all the employees working here on the day?”

“Are… are they suspects?” the other visibly shudders, speaking volumes of where he was on the evening in question. “H-hyeongsa nim, we’re just amusement park employees. We… we don’t have anything to gain from hurting anyone. It’ll just be bad publicity and bad for business—”

“No,” Jinki’s exasperation gets the best of him. “No. You’re not suspects. But you could be witnesses.”

“Of… of what?”

Jinki pauses one of the feeds. His gaze rakes through each and every face on the freeze frame, spotting one dark figure in particular. The business suit sticks out like a sore thumb among tee shirts and denim. He frowns and shifts closer in his chair, staring at the grainy shape whose pixels hold unspoken truths.

“We’ll find out soon,” he mumbles as he makes a call to an old friend.

* * *

In the middle of a lush green field, there is a house that belongs to no one.

Outside, the sun makes its rounds year after year after year. Leaves shower the roof and make home in the spouting. Doors rattle and hinges creak. The dormer is crooked and the posts supporting the awning are near collapse. Light and shadow play a game of chase between broken walls. 

The rain is an uninvited guest, falling in through a gaping hole. The window frames are skewed. Mold is spreading through the wood like the outside world taking over the inside. A belligerent plant has forced its way up from the floorboards, spreading its arms through the ownerless home, staking its claim. 

The damage is irreparable. This house can no longer be called a house. It is a wild thing, belonging to nature. Only the trees, the sunlight, the rain—only they live here. Only they could coexist with its decay. But these are tangible residents. These are the occupants who hang their laundry out on a worn line, those who run and play in the surrounding grass, those who tend the fireplace and cook hearty meals in the empty and broken rooms of the house that belongs to no one. 

Who else lives here, that he can’t see?

“Have you been well?” Dr. Choi asks when he bumps into her outside a cafe. He puts out his cigarette and bows his head a little, motioning towards the entrance of the place as if to say, _I don’t want to hold you up._

“You… can join me,” she decides after a moment of thought that seems too deep for something so innocuous. “Since we’re not meeting officially.”

“Ah,” Jinki lets out. His breath smells especially foul after that smoke. He grows self-conscious and blows on his cold hands before hiding them in his pockets. Turning to look at where Gwiboon is talking to someone on the phone about a car and license plate, he allows himself a few minutes off the job. 

“I guess I can. Thank you.” 

Despite his unease at talking to a brain doctor, they had ended their first meeting on amicable terms. She was calm and she listened. She was still and she paid attention. Outside, the station could’ve been on fire, but when she looked at him and heard him, she made it seem like even the end of the world couldn’t matter less. She’s very good at acting like she cares, because it doesn’t seem like an act. She makes her concern seem genuine.

“This is a little outside of your jurisdiction,” she comments when they’re standing in line.

“Ah, yes,” he mumbles. “Just following a lead on a case.”

“Omo!” She gasps and for a moment her face takes on a childish softness that must surely be something she’s practiced in front of the mirror before meeting prospective dates. “I heard there were lots of burglaries in a housing complex nearby. Is this something to do with that, maybe?” There is a hint of a smile on her lips. He can’t take her seriously, but he wants to.

“I... can’t discuss the specifics,” he replies in a tone he hopes is just as friendly as hers. “But no. It’s not about that. I investigate… slightly different crimes,” he shrugs in explanation. “More ugly ones.”

“Hmm…” she nods as if she understands him completely despite his abstruse responses. “Jinki ssi must be very brave to work in violent crimes,” she grins after a moment as the queue rapidly moves toward the counter. “You must have some badass scars?”

“It probably looks badass to a psychologist,” he allows with a snort. “Mostly it's just stress and pain.”

She considers him for a moment then opens her mouth like she’s going to ask him something else, but they arrive at the till and she’s ready with her order. As they walk away and stand to a side, waiting for her drink to be done, she returns her attention to him. There’s a glint in her eye that could either be angry pride or good humor. Unlike her usually candid expressions, she seems a little guarded to him in that moment.

“I was stabbed once, during a therapy session at a prison,” she admits, and then points to her waist. “Sharpened end of a toothbrush. Missed all my important parts, so… I suppose I was lucky,” she gives a small giggle that is far too incongruous for that moment. Even so, he suddenly sees her in a different light. After all the dismissals he'd afforded her, suddenly a small bud of veneration blooms inside him. This woman isn't just some pretty face in nice clothes. Life is as vicious to her as it is to him.

“Danger is everywhere, Jinki ssi,” she smiles down at him. “We may not always see it, but it can see us. It exists, around us.”

“You’re right,” he agrees softly. “It does.”

“But we’re brave,” she adds with confidence. “Even if we can’t always fight it, we know how to face it. We know how to look it in the eye and tell it we’re not afraid.” She turns to him, her face bright but her eyes doleful. 

“Right?”

—right and wrong fall away with their clothes, landing soundlessly. Half truths and white lies adorn the short distance between him and the other. He swats them away when he moves forward and kills that short distance, pressing their bodies together before they begin to dance. Their songs collide, their beats clash, their cacophony thrives—

“R-right,” Jinki accepts. But on the inside he feels like he’s slipping. He feels like he’s failing. A pit sucks him down by his feet. A pit of his own making, now burying him. He doesn’t know how to climb back out. He doesn’t know how to look her in the eye and give her more of an answer.

He’s saved by a server yelling out, “Two Singapore breakfast lattes for Ms. Choi Minjung!”

* * *

_You’ve reached Jonghyun. Sometimes… sometimes you hold on too tight. Sometimes you let me run loose. Sometimes you let me turn my back on you. But hyung. Oh, hyung. You keep me in your sights. Always. Because you’re afraid of me. You’re scared of what I do to you. You’re scared of what I mean to you. You’re afraid of losing me. You know what to do._

* * *

The music cradles him in its arms. 

He sways in the warm and sonorous hold. He lets it carry him around the room as if he is its helpless child. He lets it pull him through his dreams… or maybe pull him away from them. He can’t tell. He can’t tell what its true power is, except that it has immense power. Over him. He does not doubt he is weak against the music; that its persuasion of his will can bend him, break him, even build him anew. 

But it does none of that. It simply leads him deeper and deeper down an unending path. A path to freedom, or a path to perpetual captivity. It could be either. It could be both. He doesn’t question it. He simply follows. 

On his way down, he finds her. She wears a dress made of camellias, the wind carries their scent to him. The music is now in his every breath, its sound resonates in his every pulse. As she walks towards him, he sways to the beat of her footsteps. As she approaches, he reaches out to hold her. But she is always just out of reach. She is a magician, she is a conjurer, she is a jinn. She lifts an eyebrow at him and he stretches his hand as far as it will go, stretches to make a bridge between them. The ground pulsates with the music, with its loudness. It reverberates against his back, against the soles of his feet, against the sun gathering on his face, on his arms, on the way he moves in time to the sound. The song. His song. Her song. 

She is like spring. She is ephemeral. She is delicate. She starts and then she ends, within his vision and outside it. Reaching her is everything he has ever wanted, he thinks when she walks around him. Reaching her has been why he has lived all his life.

She toys with him, but there is no sin in her gaze. She has an unknown sway over him, even though she appears to be no more than her gentle kindness. She looks soft and pretty and pliant and perfect, and yet he is completely in her clutches. She smells like wet earth, looks like blossoms, feels like cream, tastes like milk. She is a goddess, even when he’s rutting between her legs, grunting and inelegant, imperfect against her perfection. Not worthy of even an inch of her sweetness. She has blessed him, taken him into her hold despite his being so unworthy, so undeserving of so much as a second glance from her. She is beautiful. She is a dream. She is a fantasy. She is the pinnacle of his desires—

Jinki takes several long gulps from his water bottle, wiping his mouth when he's done. His head reels and depite the cold dampness hanging over them, the back of his neck runs with sweat.

“A guitar?” Taemin blinks at the sight of the instrument, its strings torn off and its body filled with earth. The fretboard is brutally scratched and filed down in some places. The neck is broken, twisted. Three of the six usual machine heads are missing, like the kicked-in teeth of a gaping maw. Bloated patches of wood stand out on the veneer surface, like the flesh of an exhumed cadaver but more morbid to look at.

“What the hell is it doing here?” Gwiboon shakes her head, looking just as lost as everyone else at the scene. 

The second call from Yongin PD had arrived to tell them about what they’d picked up on their underground scanner. By the time Jinki and his team arrived, a dig had already taken place and what they’d managed to unearth now sits in the middle of their speculating circle. 

“Could somebody have left it here when we weren’t looking?” Taemin questions but Jinki is already shaking his head before he hears everything the other has to say. 

“Patrol’s been in place ever since we were called in the first time,” he informs. “They never saw any unauthorised vehicles cross the barricade. No civilians, no park employees. Just local police and us.”

“So does that mean one of us did this?” Gwiboon asks the obvious. No one is willing to answer her because no one is willing to venture any guesses. “Or it could be someone who came on foot. Off-road.” She touches her forehead in a habit of stress. Other signs of fatigue have started to appear on her and on everyone else who’s been dragged into this. Jinki feels a deep concern for his subordinates. He can feel them gradually starting to give up. 

When he looks up from their find, he realises it’s not just him in the middle of the crime scene now. If Jonghyun is watching, he has orchestrated this perfectly so that the police line now envelopes them all at the same time. They are the animal in his trap.

“Anything’s possible,” Taemin chews out as he rubs his hands over his eyes. “Anything’s possible and we can’t do a fucking thing about it. Ah… this bloody fog.”

On the drive back, they sit in silence like a family turned on itself. Taemin tries to play music but everything reminds them of what they’ve just seen, so he gives up. Gwiboon tries her hand at lightness by mentioning blind dates until she can’t sustain her own humor. They can’t go on like this, that much is clear. They can’t continue being pawns for someone else’s vile amusement. 

A message ding takes his attention away. He reads it, sits up when a picture attachment follows, then frowns at the opened image, enlarging it and wondering if his eyes are playing tricks on him. “That asshole…” he mutters under his breath. 

“Sir?” Gwiboon turns to him with a frown. 

He hands her his phone. “Security footage from the park,” he explains when she grows as anxious as he feels. “Guy I know refined the video. That’s what he found,” he jerks his chin at the device, where a grainy photo of Kim Jonghyun stares back at them through the camera. Despite the poor quality, anyone can tell there is challenge in his expression. As if he is willing himself to be seen.

“So he knew where all the cameras were,” Gwiboon murmurs, looking up at Jinki and completing his thoughts for him. “Does that mean he knew one of the employees?”

“Seems likely,” Jinki nods, and without his saying anything, Taemin is already swerving to the side before turning the car around.

* * *

The complaint does not come as a surprise. Even though the captain retains an honest and open expression on his face, his eyes give him away. The truth is, he must be ashamed. He’s doing someone else’s bidding, someone else who is calling the shots. 

They sit with their fingers around coffee mugs and look at each other with spurious respect until the old man clears his throat. 

“I mean. The case is closed, so why keep going back to it, eh?” he asks in a hushed tone. “That whole business with Segok station… it was quite messy as it is, and one of your team digging it back from the dead is… It’s making **you** look bad, Jinki yah. You understand me, right?” he nods in question. “I know you didn’t tell him to do that, but he must’ve gotten the idea from somewhere…”

Jinki recognises where this is going and stands adamantly in the way. “I apologise,” he lowers his torso. “I thought it had something to do with one of our ongoing cases, so I encouraged it. That was my fault, sir.” He bows even lower with every sentence. “I’m very sorry, sir.”

Another clearing of the throat. This time the captain is visibly embarrassed. He takes a hasty series of sips from his mug to empty it. “Jinki yah,” he grunts. “You’ve been through a lot recently. It’s… it’s understandable if you want to take some time off—”

Jinki cuts that line of thought down where it stands too. “Thank you sir, truly. I’m OK to keep working.”

“Mm, sure,” the old man excuses him, marking the end of their ‘meeting’.

When he is back at his desk, another envelope is waiting for him. Everything is identical to the first—the writing, the messy inky fingerprints, the meaningless doodles. Jinki slams his notebook onto the table and stands with his hands on his hips for a few seconds, slowly blowing out frustrated air.

Taemin nearly jumps out of his chair at the sound and Gwiboon visibly tenses, ready to defend the guy should the situation escalate. “I—I’m sorry, sir,” Taemin mutters, his voice shaky. 

Their reactions make Jinki feel chagrin. This isn’t what he wants, this isn’t how he wants to lead. He has always made it a point to distinguish himself from his superiors by not turning into one of them. Yet here he is, looming like a threatening knife over the team he has done so little to protect already.

He sighs again, slower this time. “OK,” he relents and motions for them to follow him. “Lunch on me. Let’s go.”

When they’re halfway through their meals, it’s inevitable for the subject to not veer towards the investigation. He tells them about his next steps and what he’s hoping to find. 

“I’ll come with you, sir,” Gwiboon volunteers. “Jonghyun’s file says he has a mother and a sister. I think it’ll be easier to get them to open up if there’s a woman present.”

“OK,” Jinki accepts. “And the video from the first CD?” he directs at Taemin. “What did that show?”

“We… couldn’t find a match for the fingerprints on our database,” Taemin informs. “But the CD itself has an identifier that we can link to a drive laser. Only used on specific kinds of computers.”

“I’m assuming there’s very few of these computers in circulation anymore?”

“Mostly in PC rooms,” Taemin answers with some pride, as if he’s done some good detective work. He has. “I can check the security footage from gaming centres near his or his family’s address. Maybe we’ll spot him in one of those.”

“Good work,” Jinki approves as he picks up his bowl of seaweed soup. “Both of you.”

At the address, Jinki shares a look with Gwiboon as he makes to knock on the door. Before his knuckles make contact however, a woman opens the door and stares at them with some confusion. Judging by her shoes and bag, she’s on her way out.

“You… must be Kim Sodam ssi?” Gwiboon asks. 

The woman nods. “You’re here about him, aren’t you? Please come in,” she invites them.

The detectives turn to each other again, this time with more perplexity. The protocol is to not let persons of interest know about their visits beforehand, so that they have no time to prepare themselves, or to hide evidence. But it seems as if they were expected, this time. It seems as if Jonghyun’s family has been waiting for a while. 

Jinki steps in after Gwiboon, slipping off his shoes and looking around the living room. There are photos of the family all over the walls. He notices Jonghyun is in each one, smiling brightly or making a silly face. Clearly, the three of them are close. With any luck, they could help find out where he may be and what he may have done.

They seat themselves next to each other on a sofa while Sodam takes off her bag and jacket. “Should I get you something to drink?” she offers. Her voice is as tired as her face and the pink dye of her hair has faded into a slovenly dark mass at the roots. In the corner of the room, a small pup lies on a cushion looking just as sad and tired as its owners. 

“Ah, no, thank you so much,” Gwiboon declines. “Please, have a seat. We’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

With an exhausted sigh, Sodam joins them across the centre table. “Sorry about eomma,” she motions behind her to what must be a bedroom door. “She doesn’t get out of bed too often anymore. Not since…” she lets the rest of the sentence go.

“May I ask—when was the last time you saw your brother?” Gwiboon poses in a kind tone. 

Sodam seems to be surprised by this. She looks to Jinki for a moment as if she expects him to step in at that with support of some kind. Of course, he does not. But it does make him feel some unease deep in the pit of his stomach.

“Two weeks ago,” Sodam’s tone seems to suggest the answer should be obvious. “He got a promotion so we went to Everland together. All three of us.” 

“He was meeting **you** at Yongin?” Jinki finally speaks up.

“Y-yeah...?”

There is a short pause in which no one dares even breathe too loudly lest something terrible happen as a result. “And uhm…” Gwiboon tries again, this time her tone is so low even Jinki has to strain his ears to pick it up. 

“And you all left the place together?” 

“No… eomma wasn’t feeling so good so Jjong said. We should go on ahead and he’d see us again soon,” Sodam speaks like she’s repeating her words. “That’s all he said. He didn’t text or call or even drop in after that.”

“How did he seem to you when you left?” Jinki takes over. 

Sodam turns to him with an oddly pitying expression. “He… he looked sad. I’ve never seen him look so sad. I didn’t understand, he’d been promoted, so he should’ve been happy like he always is but,” she slumps back in her seat and continues talking to her own lap. “I went into his apartment this morning because I got worried. He only has his phone and wallet on him... didn’t take anything else.”

“Has he done anything like this before?” Jinki persists. “Disappeared for days without any contact?”

This time, Sodam shakes her head and breaks into tears. “You said you’d find him. No matter what,” she sobs. “You said you’d move sky and earth if you had to, Jinki yah… why is he not back yet?”

—the other releases a slow and heavy moan from so deep in his throat, it’s as if the seas reside in him. _You said I’m yours_ , the plea begins. _Show me what you meant._ He does. He shows everything. He proves everything. He lays bare all the parts of him that lie waiting to come into the light. He rips himself open and lets the other reach in—

A thick line of fear runs down Jinki’s spine. “W-what…?”

* * *

_You’ve reached Jonghyun. There is nowhere left to go. There is nowhere left to stay. When I lie in the dark, I see nothing. When you shine your light, you say nothing. You said forever. My forever doesn’t exist. Your forever chains you to itself. There is no forever, hyung. Take me now. Please? Take me. Take me. Take me, take me, take me, take me, take m—_

* * *

When the moon is full, Jonghyun is set alight. The eye of the night opens and he bursts into flames. He becomes a ball of heat—a body filled with nothing but a thousand infernos. And when Jinki closes in, when he tries to touch the man, he is burnt too. He catches some of the sparks that spit from the dark and warm mass that calls to him, that begs for a touch of his fingers. Jonghyun begs from his sharp shapes and incendiary gaze.

His eyes are so golden, his lips so inviting. His knees and elbows are scarred. Their skin is rough, and they are the color of molasses. There are scars on other parts of him too, parts he does not share with the world. Jinki finds them. He reads them with his stare, reads them again with his caresses. He spends years surveying the stretch of Jonghyun's limbs until he has a map of his skin, marked and annotated to perfect accuracy.

The best portions of him, the patches Jinki is drawn to the most, are not as dark as the rest of him. They are lighter, but still as heated. They are gentle, but they still burn everything they close around. They carry embers of warm orange light and they know when to hold on, they know when it's time to let go. They know how to play with Jinki as if he's a pliable toy. As if he's a ball of clay, easy to shape and reshape, mold and remodel. Jonghyun is so clever in his softness. Even his callused fingertips, while quiet in appearance, move their mouths in soundless whispers. _Come closer,_ they invite. _Please come closer._

His nose crinkles in amusement. His head tilts in invitation. His thighs sit apart like a doorway held open, beckoning and trembling in the same instant. As if they hold secrets so terrible they can neither be spoken, nor contained. He is a daunting sight to behold.

A name peeks from behind his ear, a story is scribbled across a wrist. Trophies mark the back of one hand and a gift resides above his elbow. A statement is scrawled on the inside of his bicep, a watchdog strolls over his ribs. A declaration is nestled on his hipbone and a title stretches on the back of his beck. He is a canvas, of inked words and memories. He is planted with seeds all over him and where they sprout into view, Jinki plucks at them with his teeth. He holds Jonghyun with his mouth, tastes his name and runs his tongue around it. He swirls the pronunciation between his cheeks before swallowing it: swallowing all of Jonghyun with one precariously loud gulp. And then they become one.

Being inside him, being trapped in him—Jinki is afraid of it. He is so scared that he will never find his way out of Jonghyun, that he will be stuck in the maze that makes this man. But doesn't give voice to his fears. He doesn't say a word in protest. Instead, he hums. He repeats an old song, digging it out of where it has burrowed into the holes of his memory. He hums against Jonghyun's ear, gifted with more music in return. A lower, deeper, longer sound raking across Jinki's midriff; dragging along the length of him, neck to crotch. He burns and Jonghyun burns, ash and heat flying off of the connection of their bodies as if this is a purification. As if all the grime of years spent tired and lonely is now falling away in chunks between them. 

“You became my everything,” Jinki murmurs against simpering lips. 

“I did.”

“You became my everything and now—now you're gone. And I hate you for it.”

“You do.”

“I hate you. Because you took everything from me.”

“I took everything from you,” Jonghyun agrees with a shy nod as his fingers rake over a sweaty scalp. “I made it mine. I hid it inside me, so only you could ever touch it. Only you could ever find it.”

“You did.”

“I did.”

“Jinki ssi...?” the doctor clicks her fingers and calls his attention back. He frowns at her, sitting so far away, so far across the room that not even his sighs would reach her. And even as he has the thought he wonders why he does. He wonders why he fantasizes about her; why he reduces her to something so base with his reveries. He feels remorseful, feels shame color his cheeks as she studies him curiously. 

“S-sorry,” he mumbles. 

“That's fine. We can stop here if you like.”

Jinki shakes his head. “I’m alright,” he assures. “We can keep going.”

The study is no longer just that. This is not a follow-up, this is a call for help. This is Jinki acknowledging that something is not right with the world **or** with him; something is missing from within his grasp, and he must retrieve it. And the only person who is willing to listen with patience and compassion, is the woman sitting across the desk from him.

“Tell me about the video,” she says in an encouraging tone. “You mentioned there was another CD. Tell me about it.”

He blinks, worries his lip, wonders how much he can share with her about an ongoing investigation. But she is part of the investigation now, he reasons with himself. She is searching for answers right alongside him. With some solidified resolve, he nods. “It was like the first. He said things that… that didn’t make any sense.”

“Such as...?”

“Such as,” he takes in a deep breath and lets go of it in a sigh. “He talks about being in—in love. He talks about… being together.”

“Does he mention who with?”

“No but… but there’s a feeling,” Jinki struggles to bring the words out. “There’s a feeling I have. That tells me—that makes me think it could be me.” His ears burn and the inflammation slowly advances towards his cheeks and neck the longer silence stretches between their words. But Dr. Choi doesn’t protest or stop him. She doesn’t scrutinise him or take precarious notes on him. Nothing she does makes him feel lesser in any way. All of her waits to hear all of him.

“But you don’t remember this man,” she says, and he confirms. “And you don’t remember any associations either. No family, or friends, or even a partner.” For a long series of minutes, she leans back in her seat and doesn’t speak. She recedes into her thoughts. It’s a habit of hers he’s begun to derive an odd pleasure from. 

“All I know is,” he adds when the silence goes on too long. “I’m searching for him. Because he’s missing.”

“The way you speak about him,” Minjung points out. “The words and tone you use. I wouldn’t expect someone to use that for a suspect in a criminal investigation—this isn’t to say I don’t believe you,” she stops him before he can fully protest. “I do. I really believe you don’t remember him, and that you truly think you have no connection with anyone named Kim Jonghyun. But… when you talk about him, you seem to address him like someone you hold dear,” she tilts her head. “Isn’t that something to think about?”

He scrubs a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do...” he says, feeling utterly helpless. “I—I have no fucking idea what to do anymore.”

“I’m here to help,” she consoles, pouring him a glass of water. “I want to help you, Jinki ssi. But a lot of this will be you,” she points out. “I want you to think about what you want to achieve at the end of this. And then we’ll work towards it.”

He considers the offer: of help and of water. “I… I just don’t want to be blindsided like that,” he grits his jaw. “I don’t want my own head to play games with me.”

Her assurances are calm, measured. For the next few hours, she tames him. She makes him into a domesticated animal, no longer prone to his wildness, no longer giving into his primal desires. She makes him into a man. A human. A civilian. 

By the end of a week, it feels like she is in full control of him. Her presence alone dictates his actions. It tells him where to walk, how to sit, what to say. It trains him, like he is her pet. And as more time progresses between them he notices a growing glow emanating from her. He recognizes it every time there is a flare rising within him to pull her to himself and never let go. He recognizes this and yet feels no shame in the thoughts he has. He doesn’t try to hide what he wants, how he wants, when and where he wants. So it stays, under the words he gives her and the looks he directs at her. She knows, perhaps, from the way she sometimes tries to hide away from his glance. But she never pushes him, never sets him right. They dance like this, backwards and forwards, using each other to balance against a middle that is nothing but some air. They dance incessantly, in circles, around the consultation room. They dance around what must truly be said, but he never breaches the subject and she never reprimands him. So they remain, going over the same things again and again. He lets her lead him, lets her have a sense of authority, lets her believe she is in control when in reality he is trying to fray the leash and attack her the first chance he can get.

Or maybe he really is her pet now. Maybe the rebellion of his impulses is just the dying parts of his mind, desperately trying to hold the doors shut to even his own probing.

“I’ll help you find him,” Minjung promises time and again, when she must detect the beginnings of his slow descent from reality. “I’ll help look for your Jonghyun.”


End file.
